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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848638">Exult and Rejoice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendlikequeen/pseuds/fiendlikequeen'>fiendlikequeen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Rimming, bottom!Francis, gratuitous descriptions of francis's tits and ass, top!James</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:14:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29848638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiendlikequeen/pseuds/fiendlikequeen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis has never thought himself handsome; James disagrees, rather vocally.</p><p>Bingo fill: "James Clark Ross"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francis Crozier/James Clark Ross</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Terror Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Exult and Rejoice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. Francis has a Dad Bod. James likes the Dad Bod.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a riotous night – James and Francis spend the better part of the evening attempting to drink Greenhithe dry of its stores of spirits before they stumble back to their lodgings.</p><p>It seems as though James has no sooner shut and locked the door behind them but he is out of his clothes and flinging himself upon the rickety bed. It gives a rather ominous creak, complaining even when James lifts his arm to dispense an order Francis’s way:</p><p>“Undressed and in bed this instant. I intend to have you at least twice before the night is up and it is half two already.”</p><p>Francis has always been at the mercy of James’s ability to speak filth with such casual authority, and can do nothing but comply. He is aware of James’s eyes upon him the entire time – event he perfunctory way he strips naked is transformed into some sordid piece of theatre by the way James is slowly tugging his prick to a full stand and watching Francis all the while.</p><p>Such observation is mortifying, even from James. “May I not leave the shirt on, at least?”</p><p>“Certainly not.” Francis was foolish to have even asked. “I like to look at you, you know.”</p><p>“I cannot fathom why.”</p><p>James’s hand darts out to smack Francis’s thigh. “Francis,” he tells him, a frown creasing his lovely brow, “you know I do not like to hear you speak ill of yourself.”</p><p>“Aye, James,” says Francis, more indulgence than agreement. “As you will.”</p><p>James is still frowning, but the expression softens as Francis dispenses with his shirt. James’s eyes rove over Francis’s body, from his flushed cheeks to his knobbly knees, and while the source of it may mystify Francis, he certainly <em>does </em>feel desired. Following James’s gestures, he settles onto the bed and James is at his side at once. In an instant he is being fondled, entirely shamelessly and extremely thoroughly.</p><p>It is as though James has neither seen nor, more importantly, <em>touched </em>him before. He is as free with his hands as he had been earlier with his eyes. He palms Francis’s chest first, caressing the muscle there the way one might grope a woman’s tits – getting a solid handful of each, thumbing over stiff, peaked nipples.</p><p>He plucks at one between forefinger and thumb, grinning like a fiend when this wrings a sluttish whine from the back of Francis’s throat. When he bends to suckle there, Francis actually groans.</p><p>“James-” Francis’s protest can hardly be termed that, since his cock is swiftly hardening, untouched, thanks to James’s attentions.</p><p>But James is once again on the move, tracing the tips of his fingers down Francis’s flanks, chuckling when Francis squirms. When he reaches Francis’s hips he gives a squeeze to the soft flesh there, before progressing downwards.</p><p>“Strong,” he says, as he passes his hands over Francis’s thighs, raking his fingers through the silver-gold hair there. Francis grunts, and James bends forward to kiss a soft patch of skin where Francis’s leg meets his trunk. “Sturdy, and powerful. My great stallion of a man.”</p><p>“More like a seal, if we’re honest,” Francis returns, with as much sourness as he can muster, as he nods toward where James has begun to mouth at his belly.</p><p>James laughs and straightens up to give Francis a kiss that is very sweet. “I happen to find seals <em>fascinating.</em>”</p><p>James has returned to Francis’s middle, and is swiftly kissing his way southerly. Francis barely chokes out what he hopes is a witty enough response. “Fascinating, aye.”</p><p>“And I shall not allow the comparison unless it is to a Ross seal. I like to put my name to the things I own.”</p><p>Francis’s untouched cock twitches at that. He hopes that James hasn’t noticed – naturally, however, he has.</p><p>“Turn over,” James instructs. Francis obeys at once, having to muffle a groan when this new position has his cock rubbing against the mattress. “There’s a good lad.”</p><p>Francis is about to make some flippant remark about James’s choice of endearment, but James’s hands are on him again, and he has never possessed the ability to be scathing when James is pawing at him.</p><p>James gets a good handful of both of Francis’s buttocks, kneading and squeezing and humming in obvious enjoyment all the while. Francis allows himself a little groan when James’s blunt nails bite at his tender flesh; bites back a moan when James bends to kiss and lick the hurt away.</p><p>“Mhm,” says James. His breath is hot and damp against Francis’s skin. “I love your arse.”</p><p>“Yes, you’ve – ah, Jesus – you’ve made that quite plain, in past.”</p><p>“Have I?”</p><p>“Once or twice,” says Francis. “Might…bear repeating, though.”</p><p>Francis is as enamored now as ever of the merry twinkle that now appears in James’s eye. “Oh it might?”</p><p>In case he will not be obliged, Francis makes a hasty attempt at preserving his pride: “Perhaps.”</p><p>Luckily, when he turns, James has cushioned his cheek on one of Francis’s buttocks and is grinning. He places the flat of his hand against the other and squeezes as he goes on.</p><p>“I wonder,” James muses, and the fierce desire with which Francis is being watched is overwhelming enough that Francis must hide his face in the crook of his elbow, “how many hours I have spent thinking of this lovely, plump thing. How a man could be blessed with a cock such as yours <em>and </em>an arse like this – I have always thought that singularly unfair.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>God.”</em></p><p>“Since we went north with Parry. Do you remember?”</p><p>Francis would be hard-pressed to forget any of it. James had pursued Francis as relentlessly as anything he had ever desired; Francis was powerless to refuse that driving want, and foolish even to try. As it was, there had been a sort of hurried courtship, during which Francis had been hunted as <em>very </em>willing quarry.</p><p>“I remember nearly getting caught with my trousers ‘round my – oh <em>Lord-”</em></p><p>James nips lightly at the mound of each of Francis’s buttocks. “Thought I’d die from want of it. Wanted to put my fingers and tongue and cock in it, anything you’d allow. I used to lie awake in my hammock thinking of that very thing. Frig myself raw imagining putting my cock in your tight hole.”</p><p>Francis is beginning to regret his curiosity. “Good <em>Christ, </em>James.”</p><p>“I wondered if you’d let me lick your-”</p><p>“James, please-”</p><p>“I wanted to bend you over and eat my fill of your pink arsehole, get my tongue in so-”</p><p>“James!”</p><p>“Hush,” James retorts. He smacks Francis’s arse, to drive the point home. “You asked, and now you will attend.”</p><p>Francis grunts when there is another slap, and James scratches lightly at his stinging skin. When Francis hears the tell-tale pop of a cork, he knows to expect James’s slender fingers. He relaxes, welcomes their press inside.</p><p>“Used to think of this, too. Wondered how you’d open for me,” says James. He crooks his fingers, and Francis actually yelps into the pillow. “How you’d take me. My fingers, first. And then my prick.”</p><p>“Christ almighty-”</p><p>“Knew you’d do it beautifully. Wondered what you’d look like, impaled on my cock. You’d bite your lip as I entered you, watch me as I took you. I would be spoilt for choice, not knowing whether I should admire your sweet blushing or the way your arsehole stretched to take me.”</p><p>Francis’s hands are balled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. “James-”</p><p>“And what sounds you might make – wondered about those pretty moans and sighs.”</p><p>Francis scoffs at that. “‘Pretty,’” he retorts. He turns to throw a sneer over his shoulder. “What a foolish-”</p><p>For that derision, James hooks his fingers within until Francis relents and gives a groan instead.</p><p>“Pretty,” James repeats. He presses against that spot inside Francis’s body until Francis yelps once more.</p><p>“Yes, James, yes, as you say,” he pants. “Whatever you say, sir.”</p><p>Now James’s fingers leave him. Francis listens in mortification to the squelch as his body clings to them – “greedy, aren’t we?” James observes, to Francis’s further embarrassment – however now James is greasing up his cock. Francis wonders if James plans to <em>finally </em>bugger him, but then James slides his cock between Francis’s arse cheeks. At the first roll of his hips he gives a guttural groan; Francis, whose cock rubs against the mattress with every push of James’s body, echoes the sound.</p><p>“And when you let me do this for the first time,” says James, as he fucks between Francis’s arse cheeks. Francis is unreasonably proud of how James has begun to pant. “I spent after only a minute, do you remember?”</p><p>For the sake of his friend’s pride: “Nonsense. It was at least two.”</p><p>James chuckles and for Francis’s kindness, bends to kiss his cheek. “Your fault. You, being so maddeningly handsome, with your lovely freckled arse.”</p><p>Francis allows himself a decidedly unattractive snort. “Hardly.”</p><p>“You were. You <em>are,</em>” James insists. When Francis dares a glance back at him, he finds James scowling. “Do not displease me with disagreement, Francis.”</p><p>“Do not displease <em>me </em>with blarney, James.”</p><p>A noise best termed as a growl emerges from James’s throat. His grip on Francis’s arse becomes positively wicked, his nails clawed into the tender flesh. He squeezes the cheeks together as he ruts between them. Every stab of his hips is brutal, the corresponding chafe of Francis’s cock against the mattress both too much and not enough simultaneously.</p><p>“James, I didn’t mean-”</p><p>“I will not hear a thing I love and cherish spoken of so ill,” he informs Francis, punctuating this pronouncement with increasingly vicious thrusts. “I’ll not hear of it, Francis.”</p><p>Francis tries, most ardently, to feel worthy of this esteem. He feels instead only shame at having disappointed James.</p><p>“James-”</p><p>“I <em>won’t.</em>”</p><p>“Christ, James, enough, just – just-”</p><p>“Just what?” James runs his hand from the nape of Francis’s neck, all the way down his back, to meet the head of James’s own cock where it nestles at the cleft of Francis’s arse.</p><p>“You damn well know what.”</p><p>“You want me to put my cock in your arse?”</p><p>Francis twitches; rocks his hips back into James without thinking. “Yes.”</p><p>“Hmm. What is it that you want?”</p><p>Francis takes a deep breath. “Captain Ross,” he says, quite frankly, heedless of the flame-bright blush he is sure is mottling his entire body, “I would like you to fuck my arse, sir.”</p><p>There is a sound akin to a hiss from behind him. “Over. Over, so I can look at you.”</p><p>Francis is no sooner on his back than James is manhandling him into vulnerability, tugging Francis’s legs apart and bracing them on his shoulders. All of Francis’s indignity is on display now: his sweat-soaked hair, plastered to his brow; his mottled blush, turning his skin to a patchwork of pink and white across his full stomach; his bollocks, drawn up tautly against his body; his drooling cock, ferociously red and leaking.</p><p>Francis ought to think the sight of himself ridiculous, but there is James, regarding him with blazing eyes, brighter and hotter than a tropical sky at solstice, as he braces his hand against Francis’s thigh and uses the other to guide his cock inside Francis’s body.</p><p>Francis ought to feel speared open and gutted, belly-up and helpless. He does – but since it is for James that he is open and bare, he can savour the feeling.</p><p>But James has not begun to move. He remains root-deep in Francis’s body, his cock stiff as a poker. His eyes are tight shut and his breath comes at a pant.</p><p>“James?” Francis is concerned, now. That pleasurable nakedness is once again oppressive. “James, is it – is it all right?”</p><p>“Fuck,” says James. His brow creases and he seems to struggle to open his eyes. “Francis, it’s-”</p><p>“Is it good?”</p><p>James manages a low huff that serves as a laugh. “I am thinking of Ann’s father in the nude, lest I cock off this moment, and you ask me if it is <em>good?”</em></p><p>Relief comes upon Francis like a flood. He feels safe to offer a grin as even his slightest movement has James groaning and clawing at Francis’s thigh. As James composes himself, Francis is content to play with his prick, content to be filled and open and a safe harbour for James’s pleasure.</p><p>James has been full of effusive praise for Francis – foolish, truly, when it is James who is the beautiful one. James, with his gleaming auburn hair, his cream-pale skin, rosy with his blush, his bright eyes.</p><p>“Ready?” asks James, at long last.</p><p>Francis cocks a brow. “Are <em>you?”</em></p><p>James draws back far enough that Francis feels him almost slip out, and then slams back in so hard that Francis cries out in delight. “How’s that, then?”</p><p>“Christ, James-”</p><p>It is James turn for a grin as he sets up a swift, punishing pace. The room echoes with their obscenity: the slap of skin against skin, the creak of an abused bedframe, the way Francis groans as every thrust hits that much-desired spot, the way James grunts and growls with the force of his efforts.</p><p>“Too much?” asks James, when Francis gives a particularly ripe moan.</p><p>Francis responds with a low scoff as he bears down upon James’s cock. Then it is James’s turn to groan, and redouble his efforts.</p><p>Francis thinks – for the millionth time in his blasted life, surely – that James is as magnificent in this as he is in anything, and that he adores him with every last breath in his miserable body. He tells James this, not entirely intentionally, and James’s rhythm stutters.</p><p>“Frank,” he murmurs, indescribably fond. “My dear Frank.”</p><p>Francis grabs for his own cock, eager find his end in a hard, fast frig – for he can think of nothing better than to climax under James’s body, full of him and his wild affection.</p><p>“Let me,” says James, batting away Francis’s hand.</p><p>“You needn’t-”</p><p>James fixes Francis with that blistering stare. “Why must we do this every time, Francis? I <em>want </em>to. Let me, damn you.”</p><p>Francis surrenders himself to James at once. The moment James gets his hand around Francis’s cock, Francis knows he won’t last long; indeed, after no more than a dozen strokes, he begins to tremble, and a few more tugs are all it takes to have Francis spurting in great, sticky gouts all over James’s hand.</p><p>When Francis regains enough wherewithal to recall sundry facts such as his current location, the century, and his own name, James is still driving into his body, his hips gone jerky with the nearness of his climax.</p><p>“Go on, James,” says Francis. He can hear the huskiness of his own voice. “Let me have it. Want to feel it. Want to feel you.”</p><p>“Fu – fuck, Francis-” James, who had earlier chattered like a jackdaw, seems now at a loss for words.</p><p>Francis hooks his hands behind his own thighs, pressing his knees to his chest. James comes with him, dropping onto Francis’s body with a low huff.</p><p>“Come on,” he says, again. “Finish it.”</p><p>James is panting into Francis’s open mouth now; Francis kisses him, eager to steal the very air from his lungs, breathe him in. James goes on fucking him with deep rolls of his hips. His cockhead drives against that coveted spot within Francis with every stroke – Francis feels pleasure unspooling in his belly once again, will he be able to-</p><p>“Finish it.” He snarls it through his teeth. Lets go of one thigh so he can tangle his fingers in James’s long hair. He pulls and James gives a groan. “Finish it, damn you.”</p><p>“Francis, Francis, <em>Francis-”</em></p><p>Francis’s second climax – softer and weaker than the last, but very sweet - comes upon him with all the dizzying suddenness of a snowsquall, as James empties himself into Francis’s willing body. Francis pets him throughout it, murmuring all the while that James is darling, and dear, and that Francis will never love anything or anyone so well, not now nor ever.</p><p>When James has ceased trembling, his arms seem to give out under him and he collapses at Francis’s side. His softening cock slides out of Francis’s arse. Francis feels the tell-tale drip of oil and seed it leaves in its wake.</p><p>At last, James settles half-atop Francis’s body, one leg thrown over Francis’s, one hand splayed across Francis’s belly. With a contented hum, James pillows his head on Francis’s chest, nuzzling at Francis’s sternum.</p><p>“Mhm,” he says, after a moment. “Warm. Soft.”</p><p>“Fat,” Francis retorts.</p><p>“Springy,” James returns. “Perfect. For this especially.”</p><p>“As you say,” says Francis, and bends to kiss James’s forehead. “Sweetheart.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just love fics where Francis gets naked and is a bit self-conscious - even though his partner is slathering at the sight of him and preparing to pounce like tiger on fresh meat - so I wrote one.</p><p>The title comes from the Songs of Solomon. I can feel my extremely Protestant mother's displeasure from here for this:</p><p>"We will exult and rejoice in you;<br/>we will extol your love more than wine;<br/>rightly do they love you."</p></blockquote></div></div>
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